Tuesday, September 23, 2014

So, as I mentioned I just found out that I'm having a boy. If I'm honest I have some fears of having a boy. I'm going to list them and you, I mean Mom and maybe one other reader, who might have forgiven me for past entries, can tell me if I'm being crazy:

He'll pee all over me. I mean, all the time. What can I say? I'm slightly afraid of the boy hose. I feel like that thing has a mind of its own.

I will spend the next 12 years stepping on razor sharp legos in the middle of the night.

Everything from a stick, to a roll of wrapping paper will become a sword that he will wield like a Nordic Viking. I sort of did this as a kid and now I'm regretting all those times I attacked my mom while she was making dinner. Karma.

He will spend the rest of his life trying to marry a woman like me and fail miserably. Oh wait, that's not my fear. I fear he'll bring home some floozy (do people still use that word?) and say, "Mom she reminded me so much of you," and I'll be utterly offended.

He will grow up to be that guy who takes his shirt off any chance he gets. I went to school with this guy named Louis Cohen who, as soon as the bell rang, would walk out to the parking lot (snow, rain, hail, wind...didn't matter) and would proceed to take his shirt off. Did he have a good body? Does that even matter?

I'll have to buy video games for him. I hate video games. Can't I just show him videos of real wars and save some money?

He'll come to me to talk about "changes" taking place in him...and I'll try to not giggle like a little girl.

He'll go to UNC,, University of Maryland or Virginia...and love it. Ew.

He'll look like his father. Just kidding. Or am I? My husband doesn't read this, so I can say whatever I want. He can and will have his father's legs...and then my Scandinavian genes must take over.

Again, back to the girlfriends. Please son, date someone I won't hate.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

So, a few hours ago I went in for our 20 week ultrasound to find out what we are having. Two seconds into the ultrasound the nurse nonchalantly says, "Okayyy....there's the spine, you are having a boy, there's a healthy heart..." Um, wait, did you just say "boy?" And did you just mutter that under your breath? Do I care if my child has a spine? Of course. Am I curious to see if it has a workable heart? Absolutely. But, seriously, let's be a little more excited and maybe try enunciating the most important information we are seeking.

I mean seriously, nurse, if I may passive aggressively speak to you in this slightly anonymous blog, I think we need to work a little on your job performance. First of all, no one in their right mind can follow the ultrasound. Seriously, as soon as it starts, I have to restrain myself from screaming out, "Call NASA! An Alien has invaded my body!" And when I see the "leg" you are pointing out, and I say, "Oh look at that," I really mean, "What the beep? That's not a leg, but a creepy claw of some prehistoric frog." So, please, stop acting like we are jumping ahead of your grand pageantry of fetal anatomy. We have no freaking idea what's going on, so let's not just throw out the, "Um, yes, and it's a boy," like we had already figured that out. We didn't. And still when you pointed out the "obvious" gender indicator, and we said, "Oh look at that," we really meant, "Okay witch doctor. Good prediction, let's see if your reading of the tea leaves comes true."

And lastly, let's work on delivering the big news. Let's try a question like, "Are you guys ready to find out what you are having?" Or, "Do you guys have any guesses?" And lastly, why not try, "Guess what, I figured out what you are having...oh my gosh, I can't wait to tell you, please, can I tell you? Please, please, please." Now that would be better. With a little preemptive question I could gather myself and say, "OKAY we are READY!!!" And then we all scream and laugh when we hear the good news...instead of, "Did you just mutter the gender of our baby?"

Honestly, how do you deliver the bad news? "Yes, I see a heart, no sorry 2 hearts, one hand, two tails, yes, that's an alien, 1 giant lung sac that looks like it's eating your placenta..."

Monday, September 8, 2014

A few weeks ago I went shopping at a local outlet mall, and while shopping, I had to use the bathroom. So, in I went to the public restroom, closed the door, started to pull down the coolest invention ever (Maternity Shorts...Oh, why do we insist on going back to real waist bands, zipper and buttons...these clothes not only make life in general easy, but there's something so liberating about just pulling a large elastic material over your protruding stomach and saying to yourself, "Big meal? Bring it. Extra layer of warmth? Sure.")

Anyway, back to the image I'm trying to create of me going number one in a public restroom....I closed the door and looked up to see a sign on the door that read: "Stool Samples?" What? Then I read on and found out some lab/school/gross ex-bus driver wants to pay people to donate their stool samples for research. What? Then below their contact information it said "up to $500 for your sample." As always I don't even know where to begin.

One, should I be mocking this or applauding this for being a marketing masterpiece? I mean think about it. Contact people who are blowing money, they come in to the bathroom to talk themselves into entering Forever 21 one more time to purchase another lace/see through/knock-off of the 80's skirt, and just when they are considering their credit card debt, you hit them with a chance to make some cash. Brilliant. Why not sell some poo to buy some sh#t at Forever 21? It actually seems like a fair trade.

Two, what does "up to $500" mean? Was I never told this, but do some people have more expensive and unique poo than me? If I donated would I only be paid $250, where as Juan, after Chipolte, gets paid $500? It doesn't seem fair or totally clear on the parameters.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Three weeks ago the husband and I placed our child into swim lessons. Seemed like a great idea since we are constantly around pools, the ocean and live next to a lake. It also seemed like a smashing idea because our kid seemed to like water. Bath time is a favorite, the beach is one of her favorite places and the pool was her playground.

So, off I went to embark on a lifetime of happiness in the water for my daughter...and then I placed her in the arms of her teacher and the crying began. I'm sorry not crying but actual words of, "All done," "Want to get out," "No swimming," pointing to the exit and then just going with the tried and true of, "Momma."

For three weeks this continued and we had swim lessons everyday. Eventually I stopped calling it swim lessons and started calling it what it was: waterboarding. I felt like I should have been over the water, as she kicked and swam to the stairs, yelling, "Why didn't you eat all your dinner last night?! Why? Tell me what Heaven looks like. I know you remember. Tell me. Did you see Grandma? Tell me!!!" (To her credit she never gave up any information.)

And then, after three weeks of trying to emulate the Korean parents I saw at other lessons, who only say, "Stop crying," followed by something scary in Korean, my kid stopped crying. All of the sudden swimming became fun and I stopped feeling like I should call CPS on myself. So, it was a win all around.